Tushar Mangl Media

The first thing I noticed about her were her shoes. They were boots that ran till her knees and were adorned with an elegant fur lining. I travel long distances through Delhi Metro for its cheap and fast. So basically you are stuck with hundreds of others looking for cheap transport. It gets arduous and boring at times but the story teller in me often inspires me to look for characters, for stories. She was pretty. Leaning on the pole in front of pole I noticed this beautiful girl in long boots seating in front of me. But what struck me about her were her brown eyes underlined with thick black kajal. The eyes overflowed with love as they stared the man next to her. He was tall, appeared a little older than her and had a thick beard. He took her hand as quickly as she offered to him. As both looked into each other's eye I looked around for love deserves privacy in a crowded metro coach as well. It lasted just a few seconds as I gazed across the couple to the  glittering street ...

Life is good. At least it looks good. I am residing in the capital region of India these days and its turning out to be a good ride. Back home Punjab is a wealthy state. Here the glamor of money is different. Its like India was never a poor country. But I miss writing. Really do. Shifting here has paused development of all my upcoming books. And it makes me very sad. Soon however a new book would be launched. I am scraping away time and collecting my focus. Spring motivates you to write like nothing else. I wrote both The Thakur Boy and The Avenging Act in spring of 2007 and the weather always makes me yearn to write more. Food here is awesome and I have rediscovered the foodie in me.

 "So, I have more than 20 years work experience now." The man was boasting to a his companion and fellow traveller about his work. The speaker was short, plump and wore a shirt that might have been in fashion in the 1970's. I suddenly woke up from some thought as I realized my station was near and in this crowded train I found this story interesting. The man went on, "So in Secundarabad I was working in this PSU years ago, when they offered me VRS." Now VRS is the voluntary retirement scheme offered to employees to take some money and retire. The listener was a young man, in polos and jeans and was simply awed by this elder personality. " And after a year or so, I got hired back to my old post." I was amused at this. Retired and back. "But how could they hire you back? After retiring you I mean?" And what happened to that money you took for VRS from govt coffers? I wanted to ask him. The man just gave a sly smile. His oiled moustache sudd...

I was reading the first book of Ramayana By Shubha Vilas for the second time when I received the email that I had been chosen to review the second book in the series as well. My first reaction was like 'finaly' the book is out. The first book was simply great but it was just the beginning of a story that changes your life. The second part starts off with King Dashratha deciding to abdicate his throne in favor of his son Rama. What follows is a series of jubilation and unfortunate heart breaks. This is the beauty of Ramayana. We know how it starts and ends still love to read it again and again.  Also interesting are the facts and stories that are in between. Shubha Vilas masterfully narrates and explains these to us. He has weaved in various forms and versions of Ramyana, from Valmiki's Ramcharitmanas to Kamba Ramyana and other popular versions of the legendary tale. As in the first book I liked the idea of footnotes. They are something to look forward to. Each of th...

 When I was reading the details of the activity at BlogAdda, Use Your And, one thing that instantly struck me was Rajeshwari and her story. It seems apt for me to bring it here to share it with you all. Hers was an arranged marriage. There was love and long vacations. Life was good and Rajeshwari enjoyed an enviable social position.Her husband was a well known industrialist. Until one day wh  en an accident claimed Sunil's life. Her world was shattered. Not even in her wildest dreams she could have imagined being a young widow. Coping up was extremely hard. She shut down the doors of her heart and home to anyone who came knocking. What she didn't know that the worse was yet to come. Bankers, not confident about Sunil's company anymore started calling in the loans. There were rumors about financial bungling by some company officials. Up til now, Rajeshwari hadn't even bothered to know much about her husband's business. As a habit he seldom talked about his work...

She had been working at our apartment building for months and still I never knew her name. Yes, our paths did come across but I seldom talked to her or even gave instructions. They way she wished to clean and wash, was OK with me. One day Mrs. Bannerjee who lives on the third floor (I think) met me on the stairs and asked, "Did Lila come to work today?"  I do not know the Bannerjees well enough, and her striking a conversation seemed odd to me. I just said a no and moved on. It was only when I had entered my apartment did it strike to me, Lila. So her name was Lila. Maybe the watchman had told me her name, when I had hired her. I was not even paying attention then. All I needed was my apartment clean, my utensils and crockery washed. As if on the cue, she knocked and entered the apartment. I couldn't help but notice that her eyes were puffy and red.Now as you know by now I have a very impersonal relation with the maid. Its not about employer employee thing, its just ...

I am an immigrant A Mexican in New York A Pole in London A Nepalese in Mumbai I run, I chase I strive, I thrive I am an inspiration if I make wealth I am an outcast otherwise The locals hate me much But their survival is all thanks to me I am the wheel on which their cities run Like a wheel I roll and run Carrying the burdens of all I am an immigrant This city is not mine These streets don't have my home Do I belong here? It is what my soul asks me everyday